Everybody Needs That
by fragrantfields
Summary: Pairing: Al/Alma, imaginary season 4, spoilers for 2&3. Deadwood language and situations. Al and Alma consider different ways to recover from different kinds of disasters. Everyone needs comfort, trust,& absolution of past mistakes. Some may even get it.


**A/N: More of a project imagining a 4th season of Deadwood, starting with the town burning down**

**Spoilers for Season 3 and 4**

**Language is Deadwood language (expect bad language)**

**Title is from a speech Al gives in season 1**

**Historical tidbit: The Gem re-opened for business one week after burning to the ground, with tents serving as the roof.**

**"Everybody Needs That"**

The chill September breeze dried the sweat under Alma's arms and between her breasts as she stepped carefully around the sludge-puddles of ash and horse urine. She hoped Seth wouldn't take her conversation with Martha as a childish reaction to his harsh tone today. His sarcastic displeasure at her talking with Al Swearengen was unsettling, but more from his liberty at telling her what to do, than at any concern of hers regarding Mr. Swearengen.

The business section of town was a kaleidoscope of scorched debris, new wood, erected framework, and hundreds of men going in every direction. The din was ferocious. Huge pallets of new bricks were being brought in, wagonload after wagonload. Those businessmen who could afford it had flooded the brickworks in Pennsylvania and New York with orders backed with gold. Men with blue drawings in their hands walked around various sites, gesturing and yelling as they directed work crews who framed foundations. Tents were on every flat surface, serving as shelter for the workers or hastily thrown-up cook-shops. She thought this might be how Deadwood looked a few years ago, as the first illegal settlers carved their way out of the forest.

And speaking of illegal settlers, there up ahead was the king of them all. A line from a poem she had seen in a newspaper her last week in New York came to mind: M_y head is bloody, but unbowed. _

Unbowed indeed, as he made notes in his accounts book laid on a camp table in front of the Gem tent while directing his men in a variety of tasks, his safe behind him. Somehow, his was the first claim settled by insurance, and he was sending notes to the telegraph operator several times a day, ordering supplies and replacement stock. The ban on selling liquor expired tomorrow, and it looked as though he planned to be ready.

"Mrs. Ellsworth!" He looked over his wire reading glasses with a smile." You ready to do your bankin' indoors again?" He waved her to a bench near him. "Coffee?"

"No thank you. And yes, I'm quite ready. I do appreciate your kind offer of load-bearing beams."

He looked at her, noting her high color._ Looks like the widow had an exciting morning._

"Kindness has less to do with my offer than practicality, Mrs. Ellsworth. Town can't function without a working bank anymore. We need to get you up and running as soon as we can."

She looked at the Gem. "You've been busy." The canvas served as a roof, the floor already installed and the walls roughed in. It must have taken two or three tents to cover the long expanse she saw through the opening that would hold doors within the day.

"You got that right. Want to take a look?" He got up, motioning to Johnny to keep watch over the safe.

She smiled at his tone of pride. "Certainly."

He took her by the waist to help her up onto the flooring. The block steps had been taken away, proper steps being assembled around the corner. They would be in place by late morning.

_His touch always seems just a few degrees warmer than other men's, _she thought.

As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, her face registered her amazement at how much had been accomplished so quickly. He had already completed not only the main floor, but the second floor as well. Much like the original, the first floor held the main saloon, the bar, and a raised corner for the barber. Tiny rooms off two back hallways were framed, waiting finished walls and doors. Most had simple cots set up. She walked down the front hallway to the rough kitchen, noting the brick fireplace and iron stove that had survived the fire. A plain ladder led to the cellar, to be replaced with sturdy stairs later.

She was surprised to see a finished staircase to the upstairs area, bannisters in place.

""I aim to be back in my office by tomorrow. Conducting all my business practically in the thoroughfare is getting old."

"I'm sure. May I see?" She gestured at the staircase. "I would enjoy seeing something close to being finished, after so many empty framings and open walls."

"Sure." Following behind her on the stairs reminded him of other, frantic trips with her to his office. _Nicer to come up here without her fucking weeping and wailing._

He had kept the original plans in the safe and had the builders work from those. Once the finishing work was done and he got some furniture in, it'd be almost identical to his old place. He looked down as he entered his office through an opening framed for a door. _A floor clean of bloodstains,_ he thought. _Wonder how long that'll last. _

She walked into what would be his bedroom. "Will this space still be your…personal room?"

"My bedroom, yes. Need to get some decent furniture, maybe find a Montgomery Ward catalog or the like." He walked around the room, as if envisioning how it had been. "When I came here, all my stake went for building and expanding. I made do with this and that, cast-offs from folks moving back to civilization. I might spring for some good stuff this time."

She went over to the cut-out that would be filled with glass soon. This would have been the window across from her room at the hotel, she thought. An involuntary shiver went through her. She thought about the times she was in her nightshift or less, floating on a laudanum high, and standing at her window. She wondered if he had seen her and Seth in an incautious moment. She felt a subtle increase of heat at her back. The canvas rippled over their heads.

"Yeah, your old room was right across there," a low rumble at her ear. _Good Lord, he had a stealthy step._

"Yes, I suppose it was." She stepped away from the window. "So, you'll be buying furniture from a catalog, then?"

"Sure, for table and chairs and the like for the saloon. Haven't decided for my own stuff yet, though. I put up with a rusted iron bed and stained mattress for a long time. Might get up to Rapid City or Cheyenne, buy somethin' nice. Maybe one of those fancy big carved beds, spring mattress and such." He leaned up against the rough wall, arms crossed. "You have any suggestions? I do value your opinion."

She paced out where the bed would go. "Actually, what you describe sounds very much like the bed Mr. Ellsworth ordered for us. High headboard, carved with…grapevines, I think. And the type of mattress you mentioned, with the springs inside."

"Sturdy?" He watched her walk around the room like she belonged there, his eyes hooded, beginnings of a smile on his lips.

"I…what?"

He took a few steps towards her.

"Is that type of bed good and sturdy? As long as I'm buyin' new, I'd prefer something that didn't rattle and shake every time I…move."

He didn't quite know why he liked discomforting her on occasion. She didn't ever get mad, just blushed, sometimes throwing something back at him in turn. Like a game they had decided to play without discussing the rules first.

This time, though, he saw her eyes close and her complexion went pale.

"I…I'm afraid I wouldn't know, Mr. Swearengen. The type I have did not get the chance to be…tested in the manner I suspect you are thinking of." Her eyes opened and he saw the gleam of tears." As long as you avoid the type of furniture used at the Grand Hotel, your needs for a suitable bedstead should be well-met by what I described."

_Oh, shit, _he thought. _Wrong time, wrong topic. And does she mean…?_

"I've been uncouth, Alma. I'm sorry to bring up past thoughts better left alone."

She began trembling, past months and mistakes threatening to swallow her composure whole.

"Hey, hey, now…what's this, then?" He awkwardly patted her shoulder, touched her hair, unused to giving comfort.

Something broke inside her. Her throat closed and her emotions pulled her mouth into a grimace. She took the last step between them and laid her forehead on his shoulder. Raising an unseen eyebrow, he put his arms around her thin shaking shoulders. He didn't feel the slightest urge to tell her to shut the fuck up or he'd give her something to cry about. Something really different about this woman, left him unsure.

The first wave subsided within her._ This is a bad man, a dangerous man,_ she thought._ But he's a man who's seen and heard everything. Unshockable, maybe even uncondemning. _She choked something into his shoulder.

He pulled her hair just enough to get her mouth off of his shoulder so he could hear her.

"I never…Mr. Ellsworth…I was backsliding and he wouldn't…and then he was dead."

She lay her head back down like an exhausted child. One last sob and she was still, starting to breath normally.

"You never fucked him?"

She stiffened slightly.

"Okay…you never enjoyed…had…" he tried to remember what genteel types called fucking. Nothing but vulgarities came to mind.

"No, we never did." She pulled back and looked into his eyes, wondering what he thought of her.

"Did you want to?"

She looked away. "I should have. I was his wife and I got him killed for it .I could have given him some physical comfort."

"Hey, it wasn't a love match. He knew the deal goin' in. And then you had your own physical failin's to deal with." He patted her back. "From what you say, he had a chance and turned it down because you were high. That was Ellsworth being so foolish, I can barely fathom it."

She thought about expectations. "No one should be made to feel that a woman has to be made loose by drugs to…be with him. Isn't that unfair to the man?"

She felt a chuckle rumble through his chest. _Fuck it, I'm crossin' that line and I'll deal with any outrage later._

"Alma, you could be flying as high as the moon, but if you were offering me a free fuck, I'd damn sure take it, sortin' out any hurt feelings after."

She didn't know if she was more shocked by his speech or by the bolt of heat that shot through her pelvis. Something inside her felt heavy and liquid._ There's more than one kind of dangerous._

She pulled back, her tears over now. "What if I charged for it?" She tried to give him an arch smile, trying to get things back to a less serious tone.

He could tell she was stepping back, pulling back the raw emotion she was probably already regretting showing him. They needed to get back to their former footing, if he was to help her in any meaningful way. Still…he had a brief image of her under him as he pounded into her against a sturdy unmoving bed.

He let his hardness rub against her belly long enough for her to have no doubts of his sincerity, then pulled away with a smile.

"If you charged, I'd likely pay. Preferring, of course, that you'd do it _gratis."_

He dropped his arms, reaching into his pocket and handing her his handkerchief. "Dry your eyes, and accept my apologies I ain't able to offer you a washbasin yet."

"Another reason to hurry and decide on your furniture." She wiped at her eyes and handed it back.

They heard a perfunctory knock at the door. Dan didn't wait for an answer before walking in.

"Boss, we got the wagon all loaded up with those beams and boards you want sent over to the bank. I thought you'd want to see it before we took it over, see if we're leaving anything out. I tried to find the widow, but…" he was halfway into the office space before seeing Al and the widow standing like statues in what would be Al's bedroom.

"Oh."

"Yeah, you found the widow." He rubbed the back of his head." Go on down to the wagon. We'll be down in a minute."

Uh, sure, boss." Dan tipped his hat. "Miz Ellsworth."_ Damn, is there even a fuckin' cot up here? Maybe they…aw, hell no. Not the widow_.

"Thank you, Mr. Dority." She watched Dan leave.

Alma thought it felt like hard shells were closing back over her and Mr. Swearengen. She straightened her hair and skirts.  
>Al touched her elbow as she reached the stairs.<p>

"Nice, ain't it?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"Knowing somebody, trustin' them enough to tell each other half the fuckin' truth. It's nice."

She smiled as she went down the stairs, out into the day where her work waited for her.

"Indeed, Mr. Swearengen. It is nice indeed."


End file.
